It's Over - A Drabble Collection
by Sue Shay
Summary: Newest drabble is a complete SPOILER for 06x07 The Great Red Dragon so if you have not seen it, do not read this newest addition. SPOILER SPOILER SPOILER!
1. Failure

He tripped. His logic was wrong. Cleverness failed. How could this happen?

Being the smartest person in the room used to be enough. It was pretty easy to attain the position; most people's brains were untrained mush. He was so confident of his superiority, he used it as a shield to deflect bullets and turn away knives and dodge blame. Nothing could harm him.

Then it happened. The knife slashed. The gun fired.

There was no dodging the blame but it no longer mattered. Lisbon was stabbed to death. He was paralyzed from the neck down. Red John ran free.


	2. Faith

_Damn. Don't ask me where that last darkness came from. I was just watching Jane's mistake on the opening scene of the new season and that drabble concept popped into my head. I wrote it during the commercials. Sheeze! Let's try something a bit more positive._

* * *

The sun had never shined so brightly as it did when Jane pushed aside the storm cellar doors and stumbled up the stairway. His balance slipped on mossy growth and he fell, palms slamming into the gravel, knocking the bloody blade from his grasp.

It was a first in his life; he prayed. Not for an omniscient, omnipotent deity to whisk him away from the horror he'd escaped, but for a slender, green-eyed Supercop to find his clues, his trail of breadcrumbs.

Tires skidded across gravel. Car doors opened. Boots crunched. He collapsed. Hands grasped him, pulling.

"Lisbon!" he sighed.


	3. The Gamble

The tension was palpable. Desperation hung in the air. Everyone froze, barely breathing. All eyes locked onto Jane's hand, steady as Antarctic bedrock and dry as the Mojave on a June day.

Jane didn't look, instead keeping an unwavering gaze on his opponent before him who was nearly as steadfast, his face also an unemotional mask of a seasoned poker player, although a pleased twinkle flashed in his eye.

The blond consultant allowed a growing smile and he finally lowered his hand.

"Royal flush. Three hundred grand, all mine." He wrapped his arms around the chips and pulled them back.


	4. Bloodshot

It had been a rough night, a closer call than Lisbon ever wanted to experience again. She had worried about Grace but really, Jane was her biggest concern. How had he coped? Had anything improved overnight?

She spied him on his sofa, his disheveled curls catching the warm dawn sunshine. His usual kept appearance a bit of a mess, counter to his habitual tidiness. He looked hesitant, unsure. It was unsettling to see him afraid.

She stepped up quietly. He opened his eyes and stared.

"Oh, you have no notion of how good it is to see your face… Rigsby."


	5. Still Together

Lisbon glanced around the emptied desk; the only things remaining were the telecom computer and a leather writing pad. How many hours of her life had passed at that spot in the capitol building? Or the CBI HQ across the street?

But change was the only thing that stayed the same, right?

A gray haired man stepped to the door, twirling keys as he leaned casually against the jamb. His crow's feet deepened with his amused smile. Somehow the years melted away and he was as young as ever.

"Ready for retirement, Director Lisbon?"

"Ready when you are, Husband Jane."


	6. Hiding Place

_**A/N: Another dark drabble. Very dark. Sorry**._

* * *

_The moon rose last night at 7:14pm._

_Each hour after death, body temperature falls about 1.5 degrees F._

_That woman was having an affair._

His brain was exploding as he felt nearly mad.

_Lisbon weighs 115 pounds._

_At 0 degrees Centigrade, a small pressure increase will melt ice._

He needed to sort the important from the trivial.

_The first human lung transplant was performed in 1963._

_It makes no sense. She's dead._

His brain raced with random facts

_The average hospital stay after a nervous breakdown is one week._

_Pi equals 3.14159265359_

The brain is a great place to hide.


	7. Collaboration's End

If there was anything that Alex Jane had taught his son, it was how to plan a job.

Paddy glanced at Dad reclined on the only bed in the trailer, halting his packing when the rough breathing turned into mumbled words. The young man moved gently into the shadows, waiting for cheap booze to regain control of the old drunk's consciousness. He couldn't get caught now. His lovely yet secret fiancée was waiting for him to take her away from the carnie life.

Finding his dad's slacks, he emptied the wallet, took the car keys and slipped out the door.


	8. Closing the Chapter

Flames stretched into the sky behind him, warming the back of his curly blond head. Despite the low tide, the cold ocean water splashed over his worn brown shoes, soaking his pants to his knees. Distantly, sirens wailed as they wound through the Malibu hills.

He was going to prison for murder anyway; might as well add the charge of arson.

Before him the sun sank, clearing the bank of clouds, bathing him in warm light.

He took the powerful sling from his pocket and set the ring in the cup. Smiling, he fired it, sending it to the sea.


	9. Disposal

_Double Drabble written collaboratively by **Cumberland River Relic** (primarily) and myself. I'm leading poor CRR down a very dark path, but damn, he's good at writing this stuff!_

_Oh, well! Go check out his other writing - very funny stuff!_

* * *

Would it ever be over? She considered the steep cost of pursuing Red John. The lives both taken and disrupted. The wear and tear on her mentally and physically. And for what? The monster was gone, but then again he wasn't. No one had claimed the body, and now Red John's legion of fanboys and fangirls – not minions but true fans – threatened to start a new cult. Why couldn't someone just take his remains away? Like the janitor emptied her waste basket every night.

Then she got the call: the body's gone. _Oh, shit._ Be careful what you ask for.

* * *

His suit had a rip where he snagged it on a door handle as he had snuck through the coroner's office. An ember from the furnace had singed his pants leg. A mix of muck and something else he didn't want to think about caked around his shoes now. No matter. It was all good, all in the service of something more important.

He reached the darkest, furthest point from the road. Opening the jug, he began to gently shake the ashes out on the ground. Gently? Nah! He hurled the jug against the rock cliff. It shattered.

_Goodbye, bastard._


	10. A Million Turquoise Shards

A million turquoise shards.

First his sofa, then the team, and now his cup.

It was gone; taken away like a bully steals a child's security blanket.

It was destroyed, leaving a void in his soul that struggled to comprehend that the dangerous world just became an overactive enemy.

Time to let go. Nothing kept him tied to the world except his final revenge. Retribution for the annihilation of his entire world. There was nothing left to lose.

Except Teresa Lisbon. He was going to lose her as he'd lost his wife and child.

But there was no choice.


End file.
